By Any Other Name
by Under-the-Willow3
Summary: It's chance that brought Sirius to Moony's New and Used Books on one cold winter's morning, but it's the amber-eyed man behind the front desk that keeps him coming back. He finds himself captivated by Remus - who seems to have even more secrets than Sirius himself. But secrets don't like being hidden away, and it's only a matter of time before the truth makes itself known.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Warm

Sirius was cold, and it was James' fault.

If it weren't for James, he could be sitting in his flat right now, watching trash reality television and making headway on some commissioned paintings that were already far behind schedule. He could be warm and comfortable, but instead he was cold and irritated as he shivered his way down the snow-drenched streets of London, on his way to pick up some stupid recipe book for his stupid best friend.

The stupid best friend in question had barged into Sirius' room in their shared flat at six in the morning, waking him from a very restful sleep to demand, cajole, and beg Sirius to get out of his very nice bed and venture out into the freezing London air.

Sirius had not been pleased.

He had been, very decidedly, Not. Pleased.

His irritation had only grown after James revealed to him the reason for the early morning panic.

"I need you to go buy me a recipe book for my date tonight."

"James," he had said, voice perched precariously on the border between reasonable and enraged, "What do you need a recipe book for. You own a restaurant. Which you cook at. _Why am I awake?!_ "

James, whose own voice was firmly rooted in the country of desperation, hurriedly explained that, "I know, _I know_ , but Lily finally agreed to go out with me and I said I'd cook for her, and this has to go perfectly or she won't go out with me again so I need to make something amazing and this recipe book is my best bet."

"Okay," Sirius had replied, still barely containing his frustration; "Let's say I go along with this _ridiculous_ idea of yours that any of the _thousands_ of recipes you already know are not enough, and only this one particular cookbook will do - and let's say we ignore the fact that Evans clearly likes you, and has for ages - _why does this involve me_?"

Here James had run a hand through already disastrous hair, before rushing out, "because I need you to go get it for me because I have to go to the restaurant and clean everything before Lily gets there."

Now, Sirius loved James, he really did - he had taken Sirius in after he decided he couldn't stand one more second sharing a house with the pure-blooded snakes he had for a family; he was the best friend Sirius could have asked for and more like a brother to him than his actual sibling - but Sirius had come very close to strangling him that morning.

That was James for you; he could dodge bludgers and hex Slytherins without breaking a sweat (although, admittedly, the latter was no longer the frequent occurrence it had once been), but the second Evans got involved, he collapsed into this anxious puddle of nonsense. He'd already obsessed over this menu for days, and had apparently decided to go with the option that would most inconvenience Sirius.

But he supposed he should cut James some slack; he had been pining after this girl for over a decade, now. It really was remarkable it had taken so long. She'd seemed to start warming up to him in their last years at Hogwarts, but by that point James was too worried that if he pushed her to go out with him like he had when they were younger, he'd lose all progress he'd made in getting her to tolerate him, so they'd hit the level of surprisingly good friends, and had stayed there. For years.

 _Years_ , as they'd graduated Hogwarts and all ended up in London, where James used his parents' money to open up a restaurant that catered to both muggles and wizards, and Sirius had invested the money his only decent uncle had left him to launching a small art gallery, and Evans had settled into a reporting position for the Daily Prophet.

 _Years_ , Sirius had watched as the two of them stayed friends - friends who were both obviously pining for each other, but nevertheless, just friends - until, out of the blue, Evans had confronted James at one of their weekly brunches with a wry, "Well we might as well just get on with it and go on a damned date already, don't you think?" To which, Sirius presumed, James had responded with a dropped jaw and many embarrassing stutters and probably a voice crack, before he said yes and the two of them set a date. And then James had come home, and begun to plan. Obsessively.

Sirius had, by this point, pretty much gotten over the vague distaste he'd felt for Evans in their school years (though he still refused to use her first name, as a matter of principle), but living with a frantic, nervous, excited, terrified James this past week had brought much of it rising up in him once again.

Especially now, as he walked to what was apparently the only book shop in London that carried this ridiculously obscure cookbook, cursing the fact that he and James were still woefully unaccustomed to muggle technology - despite the fact that they distributed their time almost equally between muggle and wizarding London, and that both of their business ventures catered, at least in part, to muggles. But no, they'd both remained steadfastly ignorant of the workings of a touch-tablet-phone-device-thing, and so James could not use the clouds to purchase an eee-book copy.

And off course, all this had happened on the day Sirius' bike was in the shop.

So he was walking, and he was cold, and while a more reasonable person might have pointed out he could have just apparated to the bookstore, or used a warming charm, it would have been a useless endeavor - because Sirius felt like pouting, and so he was.

This was the mood that carried him all the way to the steps of _Moony's New and Used Books_. It was a quaint establishment, tucked between a cafe and a stationary shop, and it looked rather welcoming, despite the odd name. More importantly, though - it looked _warm_. Sirius barged inside, setting off the little bell overseeing the entrance, and took just one glance around at dozens of bookshelves before making his way straight to the front desk, where he rang yet another bell that sat squarely beside a sign that read, in round, tidy handwriting, _Please ring for assistance._

Better to just ask for help than spend ages trying to figure out this place's sorting system.

In response to the bell's cheerful little ding, a man's voice called out, "I'll be there in just a minute." It came from the shop's upper level, which was apparently off limits to customers, considering the _No Entry_ sign blocking off the wooden staircase.

While Sirius waited for the stranger's 'just a minute' to pass, he looked around. The front desk was organized, with tidy stacks of books surrounding a squat computer that even Sirius could tell was not from this decade. The walls were painted in rich jewel tones and decorated with quotes about reading and the titles of various novels and names of authors, some famous and some obscure. To his left and right, there were bookshelves, but to his left there was also a cozy reading area, with plush sofas resting on cheerful rugs in front of a fireplace that was crackling steadily, for which Sirius was very grateful. There even appeared to be an electric kettle nestled on a small wooden table, accompanied by mugs, tea bags, and packets of hot cocoa. The place was, in a word, charming, and Sirius felt himself emerge out of his irritation the longer he stood inside it.

He was just beginning to consider walking over to the reading area and making himself a cup of tea, when a voice pulled his attention back to the staircase.

"Sorry for the wait," said the same voice from before, only now that voice was attached to a body, which descended the stairs, stepped around the No Entry sign, and made its way to stand in front of Sirius on the other side of the desk. "I'm Remus; how can I help you?"

Sirius decided at once that this man - Remus - had to be the owner of the bookstore, merely because he seemed to _be_ the store, made human.

Everything about him was warm, slightly worn, and soft, from the oversized brown jumper that hung loosely on his thin frame, to his slightly tired, but still cheerful, smile, to the pleasant roundness of his voice, to the glow of his amber eyes.

Faint scars lined his face, and heavy bags seemed permanent fixtures below his eyes, but Sirius knew without thinking that he was the most beautiful man he had ever seen - so of course he was the one responsible for this place, and Sirius said as much.

"Are you the owner?"

Remus' tired smile grew just barely. "Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Sirius replied, setting into an easy smile of his own. "Wasn't sure what to expect, given the name of the place."

That elicited a small chuckle from the other man, revealing a slight overbite. The noise stirred something in Sirius' gut.

"Yes, I can see how a name like Moony's might give one pause. It's a bit of an... inside joke, you could say." There was a cautious weight to the words that intrigued Sirius, and he might have asked for details, but Remus straightened up and continued speaking before he got the chance - which was probably a good thing. There was something about this man that was making Sirius forget they were complete strangers who'd met two seconds ago.

"Anyway, what can I help you with?"

And with that, Sirius remembered why exactly he was here.

"I'm looking for a cookbook? It's called..." he riffled through his pocket for the paper James had scrawled the book's information on, and rattled it off to Remus, who cocked his head slightly in response.

"Yes, I'm fairly certain I have that in stock. Follow me?"

And Sirius did, trotting along behind him past the reading area and into the back of the shop, where Remus scanned the shelves and quickly picked out the book in question. Which had to be one of the largest damn books Sirius had seen in his life; Jesus, James.

"Interesting choice," Remus commented. "In need of some new recipes?"

"It's for my best mate," Sirius replies with an exaggerated eye roll. "He's got a date tonight and is panicking."

"Ahh, I see." Remus' eyes twinkled with wry amusement. "Kind of you to pick it up for him."

And Sirius would have responded - perhaps with a joking, "Well, you know, he's helpless without me," or a dramatic, "Yes, I'm an angel," or a put-upon, "He's lucky to have me," or perhaps all three - but the way Remus' eyes were dancing with humor and mystery made all his words stick in his throat, and he merely shrugged and said nothing.

Now, Sirius knew he was gay. He'd know it for years, he was proud of it, and he didn't try to hide it. Not anymore. Not since his snitch of a little brother told his devil-spawn parents about how he'd seen Sirius snogging a bloke in an empty classroom, and they'd beaten him so black and blue that by the time they were finished and he managed to get away with nothing but one shoe, his wand, and the clothes on his back, he was almost unrecognizable. That was the night he left that place forever, and also the night he found his real home with the Potters. He was thankful for that night, if anything - but he'd never hide again.

So he knew who he was, and he knew he was attractive, and he was no stranger to men - but something about Remus, something beautiful and battered and warm, was making him forget years of cocky smiles and lazy grins, of kissing strangers and mornings after.

Faced with Remus, whose last name was still unknown, Sirius felt like he was stranded in unfamiliar territory, and he couldn't apparate out.

He wasn't sure if he'd want to if he could.

"Is there anything else I can help you with," Remus asked, with only a slightly raised eyebrow to indicate Sirius had been silent for just a little too long.

Clearing his throat, he attempted to regain some of his bearings, and said, "No, just the book, thanks."

Remus nodded and handed the book to him. Sirius balked a little at its weight, and the familiar feeling that rose within him of amused exasperation with James helped him pull himself to more familiar ground.

"If that's all, follow me to the front desk and I can ring you up."

Of course, it would have been too much to hope the rest of the interaction could go smoothly.

"Alright, your total will be £90-" (Jesus Christ, James) "-...Ms. Evans."

Sirius paused for a moment.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

Remus' face was inscrutable.

"Lily Evans. That's the name on the card."

Another pause. Then Sirius cursed.

"Merl- _Jesus Christ_ , James," he muttered, remembering halfway through that Remus was a muggle, and it was best not to speak of the facial hair of ancient wizards in front of muggles (and especially not in front of adorable ones).

"Sorry, just give me a sec."

Remus' face was still mostly inscrutable, though perhaps it held a touch of amusement, as Sirius rummaged through his pockets and pulled out his phone.

Now, Sirius was not skilled with muggle devices, but some proficiency with a phone had proved necessary when he decided to set up his gallery in muggle London, so he knew enough to be able to pull up James' contact and dial.

James picked up immediately, so at least he didn't have to stand awkwardly in front of Remus, who was now studiously looking in other directions as though to provide Sirius with some sense of privacy. It wasn't very effective.

"Sirius, is something wrong?" came James' panicked voice out of the little box. "Do they not have the book? The lady voice in the phone said they had the book. Or is it-"

"James, shut up and listen." When the other side went quiet, Sirius said, with strained patience, "They have the book. But I need you to explain to me why I have _Evan's_ credit card."

Horrified silence.

"What?"

"The card you gave me to pay for the book - which is _£90_ , by the way, bloody hell - is under _Evan's_ name."

No response came, but Sirius heard the frantic ruffling of loose objects before a whispered, " _oh no_."

"James?" But that was met only with hushed curses, so he tried again. " _What_ , James?!"

"Well I think - when I stopped by Lily's office, yesterday, and we went out for coffee like always-"

"How are you two not dating already, my God."

"Well, she went to use the loo, and both our cards were on the table, and I think I may have... grabbed the wrong one?"

Sirius ran an aggravated hand through his hair.

"Bloody Hell, James!"

"It's not my fault! They all look the same!"

Sirius would have responded with some clever quip about the differences between the little plastic cards muggles used for money... but he really couldn't tell between them either. Merlin's Beard, he and James _had_ to get better at muggle things. This was getting to be ridiculous.

Instead, he just decided to rescue James for the hundredth time that day. "Alright, you prat, just call Evans and tell her you think your cards got switched up. She probably already knows at this point and is just waiting to see what you do. I think I have some cash on me I can pay with - but you _will_ pay me back, I am _not_ spending £90 on a recipe book you don't even need."

"Yes, yes, I'll pay you back, I have to go call Lily now thank you so much Sirius bye."

And then James hung up.

"Bloody tosser," Sirius muttered as he turned back to the front desk, and to Remus, who was looking extremely amused at this point.

"I take it I shouldn't charge the book to this card?"

And somehow Remus' amusement made the whole ridiculous thing seem amusing, and Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

"No, you really shouldn't. Here, let me just..."

Once again, Sirius ruffled through his pockets, and pulled out his muggle wallet (leaving his pouch of wizarding money tucked deeply away). He counted the bills he had, and came up with... £50. _Wonderful_.

"Oh for crying out loud," he muttered, feeling the beginnings of a migraine set in. This was too much excitement for a Saturday morning.

"Is there a problem?"

Sheepishly, Sirius grimaced at the warm man, who probably thought Sirius was entirely ridiculous at this point.

"My idiot friend gave me the wrong card to pay with, and I don't have my own on me, and I've only got fifty quid."

One of Remus' eyebrows cocked up while Sirius spoke, but he hadn't the faintest idea what that meant. Huffing out a sigh, he decided to just go for it.

"Look, I know this whole thing must seem utterly ridiculous, but my friend is finally going out with a girl he's been pining after for more than a decade now and he's insanely panicked about it, and he's set his mind on making her something from this book - I know you've got no reason to believe me right now, but I swear I'll come pay you the rest of the money; if there's anyway you can cut me some slack-"

It was a long shot, and Sirius knew it. He didn't expect this all too familiar stranger to do anything but glare at him and kick him out of the shop - which is why he was very surprised when Remus said, "Don't worry about it."

"...I'm sorry?"

Remus' answering chuckle was low.

"I'll take the fifty now, and you can have the book. £90 is a ridiculous price anyway."

Sirius didn't quite know how to respond. Seeming to sense this, Remus continued. "Of course, if you feel you should pay me back, you're free to come in anytime we're open - I'm almost always here."

There was something in how he said that that made Sirius think that Remus wasn't saying everything - but also that maybe, one of those things he wasn't saying was that he wouldn't mind if Sirius _was_ to come back some time.

"Yeah, alright... I'll drop by. With the rest of the money."

"Well, that's settled then." And with that Remus accepted the £50, and handed Sirius the book.

"Thank you for this, really," Sirius said. And he meant it.

Remus smiled that tired, cheerful smile.

"I hope your friend's date goes well. Until next time, Mr...?"

"Sirius. My name is Sirius." He didn't give his last name because he didn't want to think about his family - not now - and also because there was something about Remus that demanded familiarity, and not the cold distance of a Mr. placed in front of his name.

"Until next time, Sirius."

* * *

It had begun to snow at some point when Sirius was inside the bookstore, and had to have been colder now than ever - but as Sirius exited the shop, he didn't feel the cold at all.

In fact, for all of the walk home, past the storefront windows and through the snow-draped streets -

he felt like an amber-colored flame.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

As Sirius had suspected, Evans had known about the switched credit cards ages before James called to sheepishly let her know - she just hadn't said anything because that bloody witch apparently lived to torment James. Though, to be fair, James didn't seem to mind in the slightest, and perhaps it was warranted payback for how much of a prat he'd been in their early years at Hogwarts.

In any case, when Sirius walked into James' empty restaurant - empty because James had shut the place down specifically for this date - he found that his best friend had abandoned his 'incredibly urgent' cleaning to devote all his attention to his phone call with Evans.

To get his attention, Sirius dropped the apparent holy grail of recipe books onto the nearest table, letting it land with an enormous thud.

The noise succeeded in startling James, who turned to face Sirius with sheepish guilt in his hazel eyes.

The guilt did not remain long, as it transfigured to relieved delight when he caught sight of the book.

"...Alright, I should get going, Lils...Sorry again for the mix-up...yeah, see you tonight...bye"

Shutting off his phone, he rushed over to the book, and began hastily flipping through the pages.

"Oh good, you got it."

"Hello to you too," grumbled Sirius, but there was no heat in his voice. James didn't pay him any mind anyway, his attention completely caught by lists of ingredients and instructions.

Rolling his eyes, Sirius pulled out his wand and gave it a lazy wave, which sent James' wallet flying out of his pocket and into Sirius' hand. James didn't even react, and continued to be unresponsive as Sirius took out £100 and sent the wallet flying back to James. The messy-haired boy only looked up from the book when the flying projectile hit him squarely in the face, knocking his glasses askew.

He straightened up to adjust the lenses, and to shoot a mild glare at his best friend.

"You said the book cost £90. Not £100."

"Consider it a convenience fee," Sirius drawled. "Payment for waking me up and sending me off to do your errands with a stolen credit card while you sat here, chatting with Evans."

James responded with a crooked grin but had the decency to look at least a tiny bit contrite, and Sirius didn't really care anyway. His early-morning bad mood had long since passed. Of course, he'd probably still hold it against James for at least a week, but that was another matter.

"Fair enough. Though I don't remember charging you a convenience fee for last Easter."

"Last Easter," Sirius retorted in the haughty tone he'd perfected from listening to his mother, "was _completely_ different."

James chuckled, but didn't bother to respond. His attention was once again captured by the book.

"The hell do you need such a huge cookbook for, anyway? You are a chef, correct? I haven't dreamt the last six years?"

At that, James flushed red, and Sirius sensed the blank spaces in the story.

" _What_ , James. _What_ is _so_ important about this _damn_ book?"

He didn't respond right away. First, he flipped through some more pages and seemed to settle on a French-looking dish. Then, he turned a few more pages, and landed on something with an alarming amount of spices. _Then_ he flipped back to the first one he'd looked at. Sirius' very limited patience was _just_ about to give out when James spoke.

"Dad cooked mum something from this book for their first date. He lost his copy years ago, but he always told me the story. He didn't have a clue what to make her, so he'd gone looking for a recipe in this book. He used her birthday to pick a dish - the month was the page in the table of contents, the date was the number of the entry on that page - anyway, she loved it. And they've been together ever since. I figured - if I do the same for Lily... maybe it could be good luck."

By the end of the confession, the tips of James' ears were flushed deep red, and his hair was even more of a disaster from the almost constant disruption it had endured while he spoke.

"Merlin's beard, James... why didn't you tell me that earlier?"

James shrugged. "I know it's just a stupid superstition, but... I _really_ want this to go well, Pads." The hushed use of the nickname made Sirius feel like they were back in sixth year, trading heavy secrets deep into the night in James' bedroom.

Sirius huffed out a sigh as he sat back on the table.

"You really are nervous for this date, huh?"

James' answering laugh was only slightly manic.

" _Terrified_. First she hated me, then she tolerated me, and now she's my best friend."

In other circumstances, Sirius might have contested the ranking, but even he had some tact. (Besides, he knew it wasn't a lie. He and James were brothers. Their friendship didn't need to be affirmed in a rank, and couldn't be compared to any other.)

"And the whole time I've known her, I've loved her. Maybe not really, not at first - but _now_..."

Sirius knew this of course, but it did surprise him to hear James say it out loud so plainly. So unquestionably. So vulnerably.

"She's the only person I want to be with. What happens if I screw it up?"

"You won't. _Hey_ \- you won't."

Sirius let the moment linger, holding eye contact until he saw a spark of confidence in James' eyes.

"She fancies you, James. Has for ages. If you ask me, the two of you have been dating for years - you just haven't been calling it that yet. Everything's going to go great. Alright?"

"Alright." James didn't say thank you, and Sirius had no need to hear it. Instead, he reached out to clasp James' shoulder - and shoved him off the table and onto the ground. James responded with a grin, before grabbing Sirius' ankle and yanking him down too.

By the time they both stood up, the conversation's weight had died away, and they were both grinning.

"Now finish cleaning and remind me when's Evans' birthday - I'll find the dish and get the ingredients sorted."

They spent the rest of the day preparing, and when they were finished, the restaurant was spotless, the food smelled delicious, and James was slightly more excited than nervous, so Sirius counted it a win.

James was putting the finishing touches on desert when Remus finally came up.

"So did the people running the bookshop give you a hard time when they realized the card wasn't yours?"

The question brought memories of the warm, cozy shop and its warm, tired owner flooding into Sirius' mind, and he half-turned away so James wouldn't see him blush.

"No, not really. Though I expected him to."

"Him?" James asked, only half invested in the conversation.

"The owner. I'm sure he thought I was completely mad, but he was understanding about the whole thing."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, fidgeting. He cleared his throat and added, "More than understanding, really; I was short some money and he just waved it off and said I could take the book anyway."

"Really?" James asked, finally interested enough to look up from the immaculate dessert. "How short were you?"

"Forty quid."

James let out a low whistle. "Merlin, that much? Why do you think he did it?"

Sirius was uncomfortably aware of James' eyes on him.

"You, probably. He heard me on the phone with you and I think he got some idea of what was going on. Told me he hopes your date goes well."

James was blushing, but he looked pleased.

"Well, that was really bloody decent of him. Are you going to pay him back?"

At this, Sirius shot him an astonished glare.

"What do you take me for, a Slytherin?"

James chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. "Just asking."

"Of course I'm going to pay him back. I'll go sometime this week."

Sirius thought James was going to ask another question, but somewhere in the kitchen a timer went off, and James' eyes widened before he turned and darted in the sound's direction without another word. Which was probably for the best. Much more talk of Remus, and James would probably get the wrong idea. Because, sure, Remus was adorable and seemed to be clever and was definitely attractive... but Sirius knew better than to get mixed up with muggles. Too many complications. And it's not like he _liked_ Remus, or anything - he just found him objectively pleasing. He was an artist; he was allowed to appreciate objective beauty. Yes he'd go back to the shop, but just to pay back the money. It was the honorable thing, that was all.

James' return startled him from his musings, and he was swept up once again into final preparations, until all thought of Remus was forgotten. (Almost.)

(And if, after he'd wished luck to James and set off in the snow on the short walk home, he remembered how Remus had seemed mysterious and captivating and wonderful - and made Sirius feel lost and found and warm - well, James' talk of love and romance was just getting to him, and it was neither here nor there. Yes, that was all.)

(And he believed it.)

( _Almost_.)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

As it turned out, Sirius was unable to return to the bookstore the next day, as he had planned. He'd woken up early, fully intending to get some commissions out of the way that morning and stop by _Moony's_ that afternoon… only Sirius had only been able to get around half of one painting done before James called him, and then he'd lost a full _three hours_ listening to his brother go on and on and _on_ about his date.

Sirius was glad it had gone well - or, to hear James tell it, glad it had been, "The most incredible night of my life, Sirius; you don't understand; it was perfect and wonderful and do you think she'd say yes if I proposed to her?"

"You've been on _one_ date, James."

"We don't have to get married right away or anything! But do you think she'd say yes?"

So yes, it had gone well, and Sirius was glad for James, really, (even though he was rather concerned over the state of James' intelligence. He was fairly certain he hadn't been joking about the marriage proposal.)

But honestly, enough was enough, and _three bloody hours_ was far too long a time to spend listening to James prattle on about _emerald_ eyes and _scarlet_ hair and a _musical_ voice and whatever the bloody hell else.

And it was especially excessive when it meant that Sirius hadn't been able to make adequate progress on his commissions, which meant that he hadn't been able to drop by the bookstore after all (and hadn't been able to seek out _amber_ eyes and _tawny_ curls and a different - albeit still musical - voice). Instead he'd spent the whole rest of the day blaring very loud punk rock music while he painted and tried to distract himself from the fact that not seeing Remus again felt far too much like a very great loss.

This feeling, much to Sirius' annoyance, only grew the next day when he was again kept from visiting the bookstore, this time due to a pre-scheduled meeting with some prospective clients to discuss a potential commission - a meeting he'd completely forgotten about and only attended because he literally crashed into the clients as he was darting out of his gallery, on his way to see Remus. The clients in question - a very pregnant couple looking for a portrait of their anticipated baby that would alter to reflect the child's appearance as it grew - were understanding about Sirius' forgetfulness (even though, to Sirius himself, it seemed unnecessary proof that he should not be allowed to own a small business because honestly, he was a disaster), but he felt too ridiculous to try and reschedule, and so he'd had the meeting and by the end of it he'd gained a new commission, but it was too late (again) to go visit _Moony's_.  
And then, the next day, he'd woken up determined to _go to the bloody bookstore even if it meant he lost all his business and never worked again and had to actually become a starving artist and not just joke about being one (like he did, without fail, every time he went to James' restaurant and demanded to be fed)._ But then he registered that his nose was so stuffy he couldn't breath and his throat felt like a chainsaw had tried to hack through it and his lungs may have been set on fire; and dammit, this was why Mum (by which he meant Euphemia Potter, his real mother and a lovely woman and the complete opposite of that shriveled up hag that gave birth to him) was always saying that leather jackets were not sufficient protection against London winters and, "You should really wear something warmer than that, dear, or you'll get sick one of these days." Always said with an affectionate pat on his cheek and an offer of tea, and apparently also correct, because now he _was_ sick and had to remain at home _again._

Sirius might have thrown caution to the wind and gone to the shop anyway - an impulse Mum definitely would have scolded him for - except he doubted it was very good etiquette to repay someone's kindness by infecting their shop with what appeared to be _The_ _Plague_. (Also the cold was making him look marginally (read: notably) less attractive and he'd prefer to look his best when he saw Remus again. Not because he wanted to impress him, or anything like that. Just… there were reasons. Good reasons. Shut up.)

And it wasn't that big a deal, Sirius told himself, if he had to wait a few days before he returned the money. That was, of course, the reason he'd been so eager to return the past few days - Remus had been very kind, and Sirius didn't want him to think he was some horrid, ungrateful, unreliable toerag who had lied about paying Remus back. _That_ was obviously why he'd been so concerned about delaying the trip back. (In the back of his mind, Sirius could hear James laughing at him. _Shut up_ , he muttered to his empty room. Imaginary James kept laughing.)

But he did fully intend to pay for the book, and so it wouldn't be the end of the world if he had to wait a few days before he was well enough to do so. Remus might think poorly of him until then (and dammit why did that bother Sirius so much), but it would all be sorted out once Sirius managed to get to the bookshop.

And, after all, how long could this cold last?

* * *

Two and a half weeks.

Sirius was sick for _two and a half weeks._

This, he decided, was punishment. Dumbledore, the dodgy old blighter, was getting revenge for all the pranks he and Prongs had pulled back at Hogwarts.

The questions of how Dumbledore knew that this was an opportune time to strike and how exactly he was exacting said revenge, were mysteries to Sirius. He also didn't appreciate how Dumbledore was screwing with him and not James, as James was guilty of everything Sirius was and really, this selective badgering was just more proof of Dumbledore's arbitrary favoritism.

But this was definitely Dumbledore's fault, somehow. Or maybe one of his cousins was behind it. Or maybe it was Reg taking the piss. But it was _somebody's_ fault, by Merlin, because Sirius hadn't been sick for years and suddenly he was bedridden with a bloody fever and chills and whatever the hell else at the very time he had _somewhere else to be_.

This, Sirius decided on his fifth day stuck in his flat, after James had stopped by to deliver his daily bowl of soup and make sure he hadn't died (And talk nonstop about his _precious Lily Flower,_ which would have been far more tolerable if Sirius' insides weren't trying to become his outsides every time he inhaled), was not fair.

He repeated this sentiment to himself: _This is not fair whatever have I done to deserve this punish Reg instead he's far more of a prat_ \- on his eighth day of quarantine, when he finally caved and sent James to repay the money, because who knew if he'd ever see the outside world again and he didn't want to die with Remus thinking Sirius had lied to him about intending to return. It had been a difficult decision, but, in the end, losing a good excuse to go see Remus again seemed a better alternative to Remus hating his guts. So he sent James, and moped about it the entire time, and repeated those words in his head: _This isn't fair; this isn't fair; this isn't fair._

But perhaps all things do happen for a reason after all, because one significant thing (Sirius hadn't yet decided if it was good or bad) had come out of this whole unfair disaster, and it was this:

On the tenth day of his imprisonment, he had finally admitted it.

He had ceased the lies; he had ended the denile.

He, Sirius Black, was interested in Remus - ( _Merlin's pants he didn't even know his last name why was he like this_.)

Well, he was interested in him all the same.

And it was a _romantic_ interest.

It was a _bloody, preteen,_ _crush_.

He, Sirius Black, had become a twelve-year-old.

Wonderful.

His state of semi-blissful denial was not easily abandoned, of course. Years of living at Number 12, Grimmauld Place had driven the instinct into his very bones. It had become a survival tactic - deny that twinge in your gut every time your parents rage against Mudbloods and Squibs and Muggles; pretend that you agree completely and don't have any doubts. Deny that warm squiggly little feeling that builds in you whenever you pass a particularly handsome man on the street; pretend that you like that girls your mother points out to you as prospective wives. Deny the fear in your days leading up to first year; pretend you want to be a Slytherin and nothing else.

Denial got him through his first eleven years - until he met James and realized he _couldn't_ deny himself anymore, and finally had enough support to stop.

In the years since, he'd largely stopped pretending he was anything but what he was. He'd abandoned his rotten family's prejudices; came out as gay and never stepped back in the closet once; embraced his Gryffindor house with stubborn, blissful pride. But the instinct was still there, and sometimes Sirius needed a slight nudge before he came to terms with himself again.

Usually, that nudge came in the form of James, and this case was no exception.

It was the tenth day of illness, and James had just barged in without knocking, making Sirius regret ever giving him a key. The regret lasted approximately 7 seconds; then Sirius saw the tupperware bowls James carried and all was forgiven.

"I brought soup!"

Sirius responded with a series of grunts and moans, but James got the message and soon soup had been dished out and Sirius was slurping it up like he'd never had food before (even though James literally brought more soup every single day.)

It was, as usual, delicious, and Sirius, feeling generous for once, said as much.

"I would hope it tastes good; I am a head chef, after all. My restaurant would be in a rather sorry state if I couldn't actually cook."

"Ahh yes, the restaurant. Have I ever told you, Jamie, how glad I am that you decided not to pursue any reasonable career, and instead went through with realizing your lifelong dream of being Julia Child?" Sirius intended to sound affectionately magnanimous, but his congested lungs weren't quite up to the challenge, and he sounded rather more like a wheezing, sleep-deprived chainsmoker.

James rolled his eyes in response. "Shut up and eat your soup."

Sirius was more than happy to comply, and they remained like that for a while - Sirius consuming an obscene amount of soup and listening to James, who had been on yet another date with Evans two nights before and who, Sirius was now convinced, would talk endlessly about this woman until the day he died. (And, Sirius mused, still in that state of hazy, fever-addled state of generosity, if James had to be completely gone on some woman, Evans was, admittedly, an above average choice.)

It was in the middle of James' rambling that the nudge came.

"Lily was telling me about this new book she's been reading, and you should have heard her, Padfoot. She's so passionate about it; it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I'm not even a huge fan of paranormal thrillers, but she's completely sold me on it. I picked up a copy when I stopped by that bookshop yesterday."

Sirius, whose generosity did not extend to actually listening to James' neverending Evans-related anecdotes, took a moment to register what he'd said.

When he did, he sat up so quickly he spilled his soup.

"Wait, you went to _Moony's_?"

James, with his screwed up priorities, was busy cursing Sirius for getting soup all over his new robes, and Sirius had to send up a flare of red sparks to regain his friend's attention.

"Bloody Hell, Sirius-!"

"Oh, bugger off, it's just soup. When did you go to _Moony's_?!"

When James was exasperated, he looked shockingly like his mother, Sirius decided.

" _Yesterday_ , like I said I would."

"And you spent half an hour prattling on about the way Evans did her hair on your last date instead of telling me this?!"

Yes, the resemblance to Euphemia was uncanny.

"Merlin, Sirius, I didn't realize it was that important," James said after he succeeded in vanishing the spill and settled back on the bed once more. Sirius was struggling to come up with a viable explanation as to why it was that important, but luckily James continued talking and he didn't need to. "I went to the shop, walked up to the bloke at the front desk and asked where I could find a 'Remus,' and gave him the money when he said that was him. That's all. What should I have told you? And I didn't talk about her hair for half an hour. Twenty minutes, max."

"Well… what did he say? When you gave him the money?"  
Sirius meant to come across casual, but his voice was clearly not under his control that day, and the words sounded far too vulnerable for his liking.

There was a pause. Apparently James had noticed the odd twinge in his voice too.

"He asked if I was the friend. Asked how the date had gone. He seemed nice - bloody exhausted, and maybe something's going around because he looked about as sick as you - but nice."

"Did he…" something was stirring inside Sirius, and he didn't think it was the soup.

"Did he… what?"

James was staring at him.

Sirius didn't meet eye contact, and he couldn't really explain why, even to himself.

He coughed, and his cheeks felt red, and he didn't think it was the fever.

"Did he ask about me? Or say… anything?"

James took a while to respond, and eventually Sirius had to look at him.

There was an insufferable look of dawning understanding on James' stupid face.

 _What are you understanding; there's nothing to understand; stop it._

"...No, Sirius. He didn't ask anything."

SIrius' insides were actually trying to kill him. He felt like he'd been punched.

"Padfoot… why did you want to know?"

Sirius ducked his head. He blushed some more. He looked back at James.

When he did, he could see it in his brother's hazel eyes.

James knew.

And - finally - so did Sirius.

So much for merely appreciating, 'objective beauty.'

He liked Remus. He was falling for fire eyes and tight, sleepy smiles.

He was interested.

And he wanted Remus to be interested in him.

Two thoughts battled for dominance in Sirius' head.

They danced through his fever-hot brain and intertwined, a venom-filled chorus of…

 _Not fair, dammit; Not fair, dammit; Not fair, dammit Not fair, dammit Not fair dammit Not fair dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit Not fair._

Brilliant.

This was sure to be just brilliant.

 _Dammit_.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

It was snowing.

Fat snowflakes drifted down and coated every inch of every person, place, and thing that dared to expose itself to the sky. Crystals were creeping up the edges of windowpanes, and the very air seemed as though it might be frozen too. The snowfall was fresh enough that London traffic had yet to muddy it, and the streets glimmered in the winter sun.

The scene was idyllic, quiet, and calm, as most people with sense were inside, observing the scene from within heated rooms and doing whatever they could to witness the beauty without experiencing the cold.

Sirius Black, as he so often was, was an exception.

He never would have claimed to be a man of sense, of course, and whatever vestiges of it he might have still possessed had been smashed into oblivion by two-and-a-half weeks of illness, denial, revelation, and frustration.

His motorbike roared like a Gryffindor lion as he sped down the snowy streets of London, sending sheets of slush flying and rudely disturbing the picturesqueness of it all. A handful of office workers who had been slacking off on their daily tasks glared disapprovingly after him and scowled at the interruption of their timewasting, but Sirius was oblivious to their irritation and wouldn't have cared about it either way. He was preoccupied with his own mission – get to _Moony's_ NOW and not waste another bloody second because his return had been delayed for FAR too long already.

It had been twenty-two days since he'd first visited the bookshop, and that was a shameful excess of time, in Sirius' opinion.

Especially considering he _should_ have been able to go the previous day – by all measures, his sickness had _finally_ been gone and he'd been back in top form – except James had decided to be a mother hen for the billionth time and had _insisted_ Sirius wait an extra 24 hours before leaving his flat. Apparently, the goal of this nonsense was to ensure Sirius was, "actually completely healthy because you don't want to push yourself too early and end up getting sick again and blah blah blah blah blahhhhhhhh."

Whatever the reason, it had been ridiculous, and Sirius had debated shoving James out of his doorway and running over to see Remus regardless of what James thought – only James would probably refuse to feed him for a week or two out of spite, and Sirius was _completely_ incapable of being an actual adult and providing for himself in any way. Also James probably would have hexed him and he really didn't fancy having to spend even more time recovering. So he'd gone along with it, and had spent an additional day stewing in his spiteful impatience. Sirius woke up absurdly early the next morning, called Jamie just to wake him up, ignored the muffled curses coming through his telephone, hopped on his bike, and was now barreling down the streets of London with single-minded determination.

The panic set in when he was two blocks away.

He stopped the bike so abruptly he almost flew out of it.

And he stayed there, on his bike, accumulating snow in the middle of the street, as he began to process what he was doing.

 _Bloody hell_.

Here he was, out in the freezing cold, racing his way to a bookshop he'd gone to _once_ , in the hopes of seeing a man he was apparently smitten with, despite having only met him _ONCE_ , out of some mad, desperate desire to – what?

Become friends?

Become _more_ than friends?

Ask him on a date?

Confess his crush obsession undying love interest?

 _What was his plan here?_

Before James had repaid the money, his pathetic self had had an excuse. Of _course_ he had to go back to the bookshop – he needed to repay Remus, as any decent person would do.

But now James, the infuriating tosser, had already done that, and Sirius needed a different excuse. A sensible person might have realized that one does not need an excuse to visit a public bookstore – but Sirius was not a sensible person, as has been established, and thus this fact went unacknowledged. And so he needed an excuse, and he didn't have one, and he needed to figure one out because now he was panicking, and that, he decided, while still half on his motorbike in the _middle of the bloody road_ , was _utterly_ ridiculous.

It was completely mad, after all. He'd met this man _once_ , and he'd proceeded to spend three full weeks pining over him, like some love-struck child. No, much worse – like _James._

He was fully aware of his own folly... he just didn't know quite how to stop it.

He wasn't sure what to do.

Once he'd overcome his denial and realized he was interested in Remus, he'd wanted to forget it again, because it meant dealing with this uncertainty – this _insanity_.

But whatever Sirius Black was, he was _not_ a coward.

He couldn't be.

 _Bravery_ – that was the Gryffindor way.

Whatever this was, he would not run away from it.

Despite the fact that he was terrified and confused and frustrated.

Despite the fact that he had no good excuse.

Despite the fact that Remus had not asked James about him (and therefore probably hated him).

Despite it all, he still wanted to see Remus.

Needed to see him.

And so, Sirius would go.

He shook his head to clear it and began driving once again, albeit a little slower than before.

He made his way through the snow-filled streets and let them carry him to the entrance of _Moony's New and Used Books._

He took a deep breath, stepped off his bike, walked up the steps, and, bracing himself, pushed open the door.

And after one too-long phone call, a forgotten appointment, an infuriating illness, and _twenty-two_ days – Sirius Black stepped once more over the threshold, and entered the shop again.

The little bell greeted him, just like it had the last time, and the fire still crackled cheerfully in the hearth, and everything was much the same as it had been.

The place wasn't as deserted this time, it seemed – he could hear whispers drifting over from the rows of shelves, and off to his left what appeared to be a Uni student sat hunched over textbooks, scribbling notes.

The front desk, however, was empty once again. Sirius walked up to it, his muscles tensing as he retraced his steps.

He rang the bell for assistance, and he waited – only this time, the noise wasn't met with a cheerful greeting from upstairs. There was no response at all.

Sirius stood awkwardly for what seemed like a long time, and was just about to either ring again or run out the door when he heard shuffling footsteps approaching him.

He looked up – and there, making his way from the back of the shop, was Remus.

It had been twenty-two days. But now Remus was there.

Sirius' heart began to race and he felt like he was remembering how to breathe and all the warmth and belonging he'd felt the last time was rushing back into him and _Merlin_ could those tawny curls feel as soft as they looked and Christ how could Sirius ever have denied infatuation when the mere sight of the freckles dotting Remus' adorably large nose was absolutely wrecking his ability to function.

Remus hadn't noticed Sirius yet – probably a good thing, as Sirius had no clue what message his face must have been sending just then – and didn't appear to have heard the bell.

He was reading. His nose was tucked deep into an enormous book, and Sirius watched as Remus traced a careful, yet obviously familiar path through the reading area and up to the electric kettle, where he began to prepare a cup of tea. All without looking up from the book.

Sirius was suddenly struck by how stalker-ish his blatant staring must have appeared, so he forced himself to look away and focus on the quotes and names painted on the walls.

He tried very hard to focus on them. Tried to ponder the significance of the number, "42," and recall where he'd heard the line, "How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!" and wonder who Robert Galbraith was – but the whole time his attention was greatly devoted to tracking Remus' progress in his peripheral vision.

He was stirring his tea now, and still hadn't looked up from his book.

In fact, it wasn't until Remus had finished preparing his tea, wove his way through the cozy reading area, walked to stand behind the front desk, and took no less than three sips of his drink, that he finally looked up.

When he did, he found himself face to face with Sirius, who was staring right at him.

He almost dropped his cup.

"You." Remus appeared to be quite shocked. He did not smile.

Sirius' nerves rushed back full force; this was not a good start.

He opened his mouth to speak – to explain that he'd been sick, to confirm James had delivered the money, to say anything, really – but something in Remus' expression stopped him.

He was surprised, yes, but as the shock began to dim something else Sirius couldn't quite make out began to rise up in its place. Something tight and jagged that flickered faintly and seemed far too familiar on Remus' face. Something bitter and mistrustful. Something wary. Something dark.

But it was only barely there; a second passed, and then it was gone, replaced by a professional mask as Remus spoke again.

"I wasn't expecting you to drop by." He took another sip of his tea, his expression still guarded. "Your friend dropped off the money, if that's what you're here about –"

" _Iwasill_."

The words came out in an unintelligible rush that would have scandalized the etiquette teachers of Sirius' youth. ("You _must E – NUN – CI – ATE_ –" He could hear them now.)

Remus did not appear scandalized, but one of his eyebrows ticked a few notches up his forehead. The eyebrow apparently thought this situation was absurd. Sirius was inclined to agree.

"Excuse me?"

Yes, this was definitely going well.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair (he really was just turning into James at this point), and let out a bark of laughter.

Once again the ridiculousness of this whole situation struck him, and when he looked back up at Remus it was with an almost bewildered smile.

Remus looked confused again, and suspicious, and Sirius was probably going mad, but he couldn't stop his pathetic smiling. After all, he'd spent almost an entire month desperate to get back in this shop, and now he was there. Standing right in front of Remus.

Despite everything, that was something worth celebrating.

But he really did need to get on with his explanation before Remus was completely beyond fed up with him.

"I've been ill," Sirius said again; this time with all the precision that had been trained into him growing up. "Sick. For the past two weeks."

"You were sick." The eyebrow rose higher.

"Yes. I _was_ planning to come by with the money, ages ago – but about thirty billion things got in the way and then I got sick and Jamie wouldn't let me out of the house and –"

Sirius cut himself off, fully aware that this explanation was nonsense.

Remus stared straight at him, his eyebrow still cocked and his lips pressed thin, and Sirius was about to launch back into his explanation, more franticly than before – but then – _then_ … then, something miraculous happened.

Something sparked in Remus' eyes. And then he smiled at Sirius.

Smiled at him.

It was a small smile, and it was more amused than anything else – really, it was basically just laughing at how ridiculous Sirius was – but it was still a smile. And Remus could laugh at Sirius however bloody much he wanted if it meant Sirius got to see his eyes light up like that.

Sirius wasn't good with handling emotions.

It always seemed he had too many of them; that he had to let them explode out in a fury of dramatics and melodrama and volume or they'd dig a hole in him so deep he'd have no choice but to fall through.

So he was used to overreacting, used to feeling too much too fast – but _this_ – this feeling he had when he looked at Remus… this went past infatuation, past attraction, past anything. He had no idea what it was, what it meant.  
He only knew it terrified him.

And that he was far too gone to step away now.

So when Remus smiled at him, he smiled right back.

"So _that's_ your reason for taking so long to come by? Illness?" Remus' smile was a smirk now, but a good natured one. "And here I was thinking I'd been charmed out of a perfectly good cookbook."

 _Charmed._ Sirius tried not to focus on that too much. Instead, he turned his attention to banter. Banter, he could handle.

"Ah, but if I'd wanted to charm you into giving me free books, I'm afraid you wouldn't have any left."

Remus chuckled softly. "I don't doubt it," he said with wry amusement.

"But James did pay you back the money, right? He said he did but…"

"Yes; he came by a few days ago. I take it his date went well?"

Sirius groaned and slumped over the front desk. "Well, brilliantly, perfectly, wonderfully, so incredibly he hasn't shut up about it since."

"He did seem rather… enthusiastic."

Sirius' sigh was the definition of self-suffering. "He called me the day after and spoke about it for _three hours_."

"Poor you," Remus said in a tone that implied an utter lack of sympathy.

" _Yes_ , poor me, thank you very much!" cried Sirius indignantly. "Or have you forgotten that I've been ill? I was trapped in my flat, and James came by _every day_ to go _on_ and _on_ – I had no escape! Truly, you should feel sorry for me."

Remus appeared unimpressed. "Couldn't you just lock him out of your flat?"

"Unfortunately, that was not an option."

"And why not?"

"Because he was bringing me food," Sirius said with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Well in that case I do feel truly sorry for you, having to suffer through a doting friend caring for you in your hour of need. How tragic." Remus was apparently a master of dry sarcasm.

"I'm glad you understand my plight," he replied with a smirk.

And then they were staring right at each other again.

Remus' expression softened. "I am sorry to hear you were ill."

It was said with kind sincerity, and Sirius, who had been an emotional Muggle Death Contraption (or roller coaster, as Evans would have put it) since stepping out of his home that morning, was not equipped to handle that. He almost deflected, but…

"Thanks." It was the quietest thing he'd said since entering the store. After another moment of eye contact that set Sirius' every nerve on edge, he decided that was more than enough sincerity to handle for one day. He looked away.

"So, since you aren't here to pay me back, is there something I can help you with? Some other obscure recipes for your friend?"

Surprisingly, the question did not spark panic in Sirius. Bolstered by the success of the conversation so far, he drew on the improv skills he'd honed into an art form after years of on-the-spot excuses to get out of trouble at Hogwarts, he tacked up his most disarming grin, and he lied.

"No recipes, but I could use your help. I'm looking to get into a new book series – my recent time in quarantine has alerted me to the shameful lack of new reading material in my flat. Any suggestions?"

It wasn't a total lie, he supposed. He did love reading, and was always welcome to discovering new books…. But he currently had at least a dozen unread tomes sitting on his shelves back at home, and he wasn't exactly struggling to find new material. But Remus didn't have to know that, and if a new book series meant he would have a viable reason to stop by the shop again… well, there was nothing wrong with that.

Amusement played across Remus' lips, but he seemed to seriously ponder the request. He took a scrutinizing look at Sirius, as though he was analyzing him. Goosebumps popped up on Sirius' skin, and he was grateful for the omnipresence of his leather jacket.

"I might have a few ideas," he mused after a few beats.

Remus stepped away from the front desk. "I'll be just a moment. Feel free to help yourself to some tea." He turned and disappeared into the shelves, and Sirius allowed himself a moment of triumph.

He could stay for tea. It wasn't a personal invitation, by any counts – the tea was clearly available to all – and it wasn't an indication of interest. But it was a start.

By the time Sirius had settled into an unoccupied sofa with a fresh cup of tea, Remus was back, holding a full stack of books and his own cup.

He sat down beside Sirius, and there, by the fireplace, while snow still floated down outside the frosty windows, the two men sat for over an hour, discussing books of every variety and downing unknown volumes of tea.

It was a start, indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Sirius' third visit to _Moony's_ wasn't nearly as delayed as the second.

In fact, in the weeks following his long-awaited return to the shop, Sirius spent almost every day there. He settled into a new routine: wake up, work on commissions for a few hours while sometimes simultaneously dealing with a love-struck James, have lunch, meet with clients – then rush across town to open a door and be greeted by the ringing of a bell and Remus' smile.

Soon the tentative start he'd forged with Remus had strengthened into a healthy middle - and what an enjoyable middle it was.

Sometimes other people were in the shop; sometimes they were alone. No matter what, it was only a matter of time before the two of them were sitting by the fireplace or standing at the front desk; reading books in silence or talking about anything from art to philosophy to friends to food.

One day, the discussion turned to a topic that was surprising in how long it took to come up.

* * *

"I still don't know your name."

It was a lazy, abrupt interruption.

Sirius was lying sprawled across the couch nearest to the fire while Remus sat neatly on the couch opposite him, reading a book. The two had been indulging in companionable silence when the realization popped into Sirius' head.

"What was that?"

"I said, I still don't know your name. You never told me."

Remus cracked his familiar wry smile, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Of course, silly me. Remus isn't my name at all, you've just been calling me that for laughs."

"That's just your first name," Sirius quipped back. "I still don't know your last."

At this, Remus forehead wrinkled. "Really?" He thought about it a moment longer, and then laughed, coming to the same realization Sirius had just moments earlier. "I suppose you're right. I didn't even realize."

"So?" Sirius prompted with a grin.

"Lupin," Remus said with a smile. _Lupin._ The odd name suited him, Sirius decided. Cheekily, he stuck out his hand, which Remus - Remus _Lupin_ \- accepted with a long-suffering sigh.

"Lovely to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lupin."

Where Sirius' greeting was inflated with exaggerated poshness, Remus' answering was flat, but tilted up in questioning at the end.

"And yours, Mr… ?"

And despite the fact that he'd broached the topic, Sirius found himself again reluctant to answer. His indecision, however, did not linger long.

"Potter," he said decisively. After all, he'd been more Potter than Black for years.

"Mr. Potter," Remus repeated.

And that day blended into the next.

* * *

On some days, though, the routine was disrupted. Occasionally this was Sirius' fault – a meeting or a deadline or the like keeping him in his studio and away from the bookstore – but sometimes it was because of Remus.

The first time it happened, it was unexpected.

Sirius hadn't managed to make time for a visit the day before, and already a feeling of loss had begun to itch beneath his skin. (And if Sirius was a little concerned at how quickly Remus' presence had become oxygen, he pushed the feeling away.)

He raced his bike down a now familiar street with the same reckless abandon as always, disturbing some fat pigeons strutting down the road, until he came to a stop just in front of the store.

Stomping up the worn, squat steps, Sirius hastened to open the door – only to find, for the first time in his experience, that it was locked. He tried again, this time peering through the frosted windows, and saw that the shop was empty, and no fire crackled within.

When he took a step back and shifted his focus to the door, the obvious was confirmed.

Where there usually hung a cheerful _Open_ sign, there now read: _Closed Until Further Notice._

Sirius felt his mood deflate. He made one last attempt to peek inside the shop, in the vain hope that Remus would spring up from behind the front desk with his trademark wry amusement and the whole thing would turn out to be a joke – but no. No one was there. So Sirius left.

He came back the next day, of course – but that same sign still dangled in the cold, dark window, taunting him.

The day after that, he was already steeling himself for disappointment as he rounded the corner – only to find himself jolting to a stop as he noticed the warm, welcoming glow smiling from the windows. Clambering off of his bike and taking a few steps forward, he peered into the shop, and – sure enough, there was Remus. He was inside the shop in a heartbeat.

His first instinct was to needle Remus about abandoning him to James for _three whole days_ – but then he got a good look at him.

At the bags under his eyes, the sickly tint to his skin, the sallowness of his cheeks.  
Remus always looked slightly worn down, sure; always kept that air of weariness wrapped around him like a blanket – but this was… different. This was worse.

Remus stiffened as he looked at Sirius, whose face probably spelled out everything he was thinking. Coughing, he turned away and shuffled through some books.

"Hello, Sirius. Good to see you." His voice was raspy and low.

Sirius was never one for subtlety, but he tried nevertheless, and responded with a tentative, "Hey, mate. Where've you been?"

"Out sick." Well Sirius believed that. Remus looked like he'd done battle with dragon pox (or whatever the muggle variant was of that), and had lost. Badly.

"It happens sometimes. More often than I'd like. I'm a bit prone to illness."

It was a perfectly normal statement. Plenty of people got sick. There was nothing abnormal about it. And yet…

"Sorry to hear that," Sirius replied, and he asked if Remus was doing better now, and Remus said he was, and they moved on to other things and the topic faded away.

And yet…

There was just something about the way Remus had said it. How he hadn't looked at Sirius. How he had tensed up and ducked his head.

And maybe if it had only happened once, the few wisps of doubt that remained would have been swept away. But it happened again. And again. And while the days were few and far between, there was that same uncertainty that hung about them.

And while most afternoons he told himself he was just being silly; just imagining things… he couldn't help that sneaking suspicion that Remus was hiding… _something._

* * *

But then, of course – sometimes Sirius wondered if he was trying to hunt out a lie just because he _wanted_ one to be there. Because if Remus was lying too… if guilt was lurking beneath amber eyes, as well as silver ones… then maybe Sirius could feel less ashamed of his own secrets. Of the stories he spun to maintain the illusion.

Most days he could just ignore it, but on some occasions the conversation edged too close to danger, and Sirius had to steer it off course. This happened whenever the questions of childhood came up, or family, or school. Perfectly innocent questions to Remus, he was sure, but for Sirius… For him, they were too interwoven with that one topic that remained hanging in the air between them, holding them at arm's length.

Magic. As close as they were getting, that was the one thing Sirius couldn't share.

It was what kept many wizards from entering close relationships with Muggles – to do so meant having to accept those stabs of guilt that rose up whenever you had to explain away another inconsistency with a lie – whenever you had to say the posh boarding school you'd gone to had shut down, in case the other person got a little too curious and started searching for a place that would yield no results – whenever you had to pretend that the reason you didn't know what an Xbox was was that your parents had been controlling gits and after that you just weren't too interested in technology. "I've always preferred painting to playing video games," Sirius had said, and Remus had believed him. Sirius was terrified that a day would come when he wouldn't.  
But despite the complications, Sirius couldn't bring himself to remain at a distance from Remus – no matter how many lies he had to tell because of it.

Maybe it was the resulting guilt – and the desire to escape it – that drove him to search for a deception of Remus' own. That caused him to see what he saw on one of his many lazy afternoons at _Moony's._

Sirius was leaning against the front desk as Remus sorted through boxes of newly arrived books. His eyes drifted lazily across the walls.

"Who painted the names up there?"

Remus, immersed in his task, took a moment to respond.

"Oh, I hired someone when I opened the place. I always wanted to have some murals done, too, but I didn't have the money for it back then and I just haven't gotten to it since."

Sirius let out a noncommittal hum as he kept his eyes trained on the walls, but inside his mind was racing. _Remus wants someone to paint murals_... He was always latching onto ideas like this, generating lists of reasons to hang around, excuses to come back another day, even after he'd gone past the point of needing an excuse.

That is where his thoughts were revolving when he saw it. Later on, he'd think maybe he'd been so focused on one of the author's names, painted in swooping curves, that his peripheral vision had begun to swirl around, too, but in the moment... in the moment he would have sworn he'd seen, in the corner of his eye, a pencil shoot quickly across Remus' desk, quite of its own volition.

Startled, he spun around to stare, and saw that a pencil was now settled comfortably in Remus' hand. He could not, for the life of him, remember if one had been there before.

"Is everything alright?"

Remus' voice was casual, and Sirius didn't know what to make of it.

"Sirius?"

"I just...thought I saw..."

Remus cocked his head just slightly, and raised one eyebrow.

"Thought you saw...?"

He wasn't looking at Sirius as though he thought him crazy - more like this was another one of Sirius' dramatics, and he was vaguely amused to see which direction it took.

"Nothing," Sirius said, shaking his head. "I didn't see anything."

Remus raised his eyebrows a little bit higher, but said nothing and returned to his work.

And Sirius believed it, and when he came back the next day he was so full of complaints about his latest customers that he didn't even remember the small oddity of the day before, and it was forgotten.

(As it turned out, though, there were quite a few things that day that Sirius hadn't seen.

He hadn't seen how Remus' entire body clenched when Sirius spun wildly around.

He hadn't seen how his hands, which he'd lowered beneath the table, were shaking.

And a few minutes later, when Remus excused himself to grab something from upstairs, he wouldn't see how he collapsed against a shut door, breathing heavily and muttering quiet curses on his on carelessness.

Sirius didn't see a great many things that day.

But the little pencil, rolling quite obediently into Remus' waiting hand?

That, he definitely had.)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

Things were not perfect – Sirius would never expect them to be.

But despite all the little twinges – the lingering anxiety that he was misreading Remus' signals, the underlying guilt over lies that always accompanied close relationships with Muggles, Sirius' own deep-set, stubborn paranoia and distrust of anything good in his life – Sirius was happy. Incredibly so.

James was finally dating Evans, and Sirius could barely even muster up teasing exasperation when he brought her up - (In fact, Sirius was so blissful that one morning he almost – not quite, but almost – called her Lily).

He spent his mornings immersed in paint and creation that had always been his safe haven.

He spent his afternoons with Remus, and became more certain every day that this _thing_ between them wasn't just in his head – was maybe – hopefully – possibly – mutual.

He dreamt of amber-colored eyes and kisses that tasted like chocolate and of whispers that _might just_ spell out love.

He was infatuated and enraptured and – happy.

So wonderfully, incredibly, happy.

So truly, bloody, happy – that he forgot to be afraid of it. And that – of course – was when everything fell hopelessly apart.

* * *

It was an afternoon much like any other. Remus was ringing Sirius up for that day's purchases, and the two had been standing in amicable silence as Remus scanned each barcode and totaled up the cost.

Well - Remus was standing in amicable silence. Sirius was panicking.

He was going to do it. He was going to ask Remus out.

He'd planned it all out - he'd flirt, he'd smile, he'd woo, and he'd strong arm James into cooking them a perfect first date dinner. Which would lead to another date. And another. And another.

The day was going well so far, and success was _so very_ close.

All he had to do was ask.

But the words were catching in his throat.

Seconds ticked by, then minutes, and Sirius still couldn't squeeze them out.

Remus interrupted his crisis.

"Alright Sirius, that's 35 pounds."

Mechanically, Sirius nodded and reached into his wallet – And found his cash was gone.

This was not part of the plan.

It was also, quite definitely, NOT Sirius' fault. Ever since his first disastrous attempt to make a purchase from Remus, Sirius had made sure his wallet was fully stocked before each return trip. And he could vividly remember stuffing a few tenners into it this morning – just before James stopped by. James, who often _conveniently_ forgot that he owned a perfectly successful business and decided to nick Sirius' hard-owned quid. (And yes Sirius did the same to him; that's irrelevant. Shut up.)

"Er – Sirius? You alright?"

Sirius' head, which had been glowering down at his wallet, shot up. Blushing, he rushed to explain. "Ha, just – I think James nicked my cash, the prat."

Remus, biting back a smile, leaned forward slightly and craned his neck to peer inside Sirius' open wallet.

"I see… and did he take your card too?"

"My what?"

"Your credit card, Sirius." Remus was still fighting back a smile, but it was a battle he was losing. "It's right there."

Sirius' blush deepened, and he mentally jinxed himself into oblivion. Of course. A credit card. That thing Muggles used when they couldn't be arsed to carry money. He wished he'd never let Evans talk him into getting one – they seemed to cause nothing but trouble.

"Right," he breathed out sharply. "That thing." With a sheepish smile, he pulled his out and handed it to Remus, who just chuckled and smiled fondly at Sirius in response.

That, more than anything, loosened up the question still stuck in his throat. After all, he had already made a fool out of himself. This way if things went badly ( _Please Merlin don't let them go badly_ ), he didn't have to look like an idiot twice.

Stealing himself, he stared at his pale hands, and blurted it out.

"Do you want to get dinner with me sometime?"

He heard Remus' breath catch, but he still didn't look at him. Instead, he waited, heart racing, for a response.

A response that didn't come.

Another minute.

And still nothing.

 _Nothing._

 _DammitDammitDammit._

Sirius was tempted to laugh it off, deflect, rush out and hide – but no. _No_. He was going to follow through. He was going to do this.

So he looked up.

The sight was not comforting.

Remus was staring at his computer screen. His face was completely blank. But there was a tightness to it, too. A guarded hostility. The fondness of just a few moments before was dead.

"Remus?" Sirius cursed the waver in his voice.

Remus blinked in response. But he did not look at Sirius.

Sirius' instincts screamed _run_.

"Remus?" He tried again. "Did you hear me? I just thought… maybe we could get dinner… sometime. Or something else – I just – I'd like to…– "

"That's a bad idea." Sirius' could feel the ice shards forming in his veins. There was no give in that voice. No possibility for amendment. _Run go end this get out_ He tried anyway.

"…Remus –"

"You don't want to do that."

It was so ridiculous Sirius almost laughed. Here he stood, having just bared his heart to the man he'd been pining after for months, and the man in question was, quite calmly, telling him he didn't actually want to do that. Even though it was the _only_ thing he'd wanted since the first time he saw Remus. And Remus still wouldn't look at him.

It was too much. A fire sparked in Sirius. Because he could respect Remus turning him down – it was crushing him and his blood was ice and his mind was still screaming _run_ on repeat but he could respect it - but Remus had no right to tell him what he wanted. No right at all.

" _Yes_ , I do."

Because what else was he supposed to say?

The air between them felt charged by lightning.

For a second Sirius didn't think Remus would respond. He'd just begun to wonder how long his stubbornness would keep him from fleeing the shop when Remus looked up.

His face contained a universe of nothing.

Sirius' spirit, already crumpled and worn, felt squashed into a tiny, worthless ball at the sight.

There were a million thing Sirius wanted to say; needed to ask.

 _What's going on?_

 _Did I do something?_

 _Have I misread this the whole time?_

 _I don't understand._

 _Please, Remus, I don't understand._

In the end, it didn't matter. Remus beat him to it.

"It wouldn't work out." It was said blankly. His eyes were fixed on a point just beyond Sirius' head, and every aspect of him was closed off, tucked inside metal boxes and locked away. Lost to Sirius.

The thought was too terrible to bear.

Sirius felt his misery must be a tangible thing. How could a feeling this potent and destructive and consuming be limited to an abstract? How could it do anything but manifest itself and roll off of him like crashing waves on a storm-plagued sea?

And maybe he was right. Maybe the feeling rose off of him and filled the air. Maybe it ate away at the oxygen and grew to envelop the entirety of that little bookshop, tucked away in one of the many corners of London.

Maybe that was what drove Remus to shift his gaze. To meet Sirius' eyes, finally.

Maybe it was that feeling, so fierce and so potent, that unlocked the boxes he'd hidden himself away in. That opened them, just slightly, until an entirely separate pain – one of Remus' sole possession – bled into his amber eyes.

The dam had broken.

They stood there, the two of them, as their clouds of hurt crashed against each other. Silently, their faces screamed at the other to understand. But neither of them did.

Then Remus dragged his hand down his face and the spell was broken.

When he looked up again, his face spoke of nothing but a deep, aching weariness.

"I'm sick, Sirius." His voice sounded like the aftermath of a battle. "I can't be in a relationship with you."

That fire flared up in Sirius again – if it was because of this, and not because of Sirius himself –

"I don't care," he exhaled in a rush. "Remus, it _doesn't_ matter–"

" _Yes_ , it does." Remus shook his head, and Sirius felt himself deflate once more. "You don't understand." The words were muttered softly and darkly, and clearly not meant for Sirius to hear, but he clung to them in a last, pathetic attempt.

Leaning forward to catch Remus' eyes, he pleaded. "Then explain it to me."

Remus had staunched the raw pain of before and managed to beat it back into covered corners, and now the absence of feeling was all that was left. That, and the omnipresent weariness that clung to him, heavier now than ever.  
"I can't."

Sirius wanted to rebel against the dismissal, wanted to make Remus explain – but he was pressing Sirius' card and books into his hands, and, in the end, it was clear. Remus just wasn't interested. And there was nothing Sirius could do about it.

"You should go," said amber eyes and tawny curls.

So he did.

For once, he didn't demand to inflict his presence on the entire world, and he turned and walked to the door.

And when he got to it, he didn't linger; didn't try again; didn't attempt to change Remus' mind.

He opened the door (and the little bell chimed like it always had) and he stepped out.

"Goodbye, Mr. Black."

And then the door shut.

And that was the end.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

"James, I'm starting to get worried."

"I know, Lily, but what are we supposed to do? Look, he needs time to move on –"

"How much more time do you expect?! It's been three weeks, and he's only getting worse. I don't think he's left his studio in the past three days, and I don't even want to _think_ about how he's using the loo. Or, rather, how he _isn't_ using it." The hushed voices were coming from the entrance of Sirius' flat, which James and Evans had just entered for their daily Make-Sure-Sirius-Isn't-Dead visit. Normally, when they arrived, he was either in his room or in his studio, which Sirius supposed was why they were discussing him as though he couldn't hear them.

"Lily –" A sigh followed, and Sirius could envision James running a hand through his perpetual bedhead. "I know, alright? I'm worried too. But there isn't much more we can do for him."

"What happened, anyway? I thought things were going well –"

But at this point, Sirius, who was not, in fact, in his room or studio, and was instead lying face-down on his couch, decided he had heard enough, and, not bothering to lift himself up, grabbed the nearest object he could find and chucked it in James' general direction. As it turned out, the object was an empty bottle of firewhisky. Judging from the sound of glass shattering on a wall (and from James' very loud cursing), he had missed. That fact didn't seem too important to James, though.

"Jesus! That nearly took my bloody head off, you absolute wanker!"

"It didn't hit you." Sirius' voice was muffled by the pillow his face was buried in. (They'd become rather close in the last three weeks, Sirius and that pillow. His heart was broken and his life was a mess, but at least the pillow was there.)  
"It _almost_ did!" James was indignant now. Indignant James was a pain, but also a hell of a lot better than Pitying James, so Sirius would take it.

Indignant James continued in his tirade – "Trying to bloody kill me; What are you even doing on that couch, I thought you were still in your room; Maybe next time give me some warning before you decapitate me – " and for a moment Sirius thought that his bottle-throwing, while possessing the unfortunate side-effect of reminding him of his mother the hideous hag that had birthed him, had been a successful distraction from the reason James was there. And maybe it would have been, a few months ago. Except now, Evans was there. Joy.  
"James, it missed you by a mile. Can you control your inner drama queen for two seconds?"

"Lily, I am NOT being dramatic," James spluttered, dramatically. "It was a glass bottle. That's dangerous! I could have died!"

"James," Evans said in her well-practiced _Potter-stop-being-an-idiot voice_ , though it was tinged with far more affection now than it had been back at Hogwarts. "You willingly chose to become an unregistered Animagus in your fifth year because, and I quote, you, 'wanted to see if you could.' You have literally no right to complain about unnecessary danger, ever. Now shut up.'"

James was probably about to protest once more, but Sirius heard an _Oof,_ and then nothing. Which probably meant that Evans had elbowed him and drawn his attention back to the crux of the matter. Sirius could feel the air deflate as Pitying James replaced the Indignant one once more. Perfect.

"Sirius."

Sirius, still with his head resolutely buried in his pillow, did not respond.

And then he _could_ not respond, because he was being lifted into the air by his ankle.

"HEY – EVANS, PUT ME DOWN – " and he tumbled back to the ground, his fall slowing at the last minute to ensure his landing was gentle, and not fatal.

He glared at Evans, whose wand was held neatly in her crossed arms, and opened his mouth to respond with trademark Black disdain – only for his pillow to launch itself off of his couch and hit him square in the face.

Sirius turned his glare onto where it had landed on the floor. "Traitor," he muttered, before heaving himself off of the ground and turning to face James and Evans.

"Last I checked, it was considered rude to barge into someone's house and levitate them off of their couch." He was trying for haughtiness, but the effect was somewhat lessened by his uncombed hair, wrinkled shirt, and paint-stained sweats. There was also a week-old streak of yellow paint on his forehead he either hadn't noticed or hadn't bothered to wash off, and that wasn't doing much for him either.

Evans, at least, didn't appear impressed, and not even Sirius could delude himself into thinking James' forehead was wrinkled in intimidation and not concern. His attempt at an imperious glare sank into a petulant scowl as Evans rolled her eyes at him. "And last _I_ checked, it was rude to throw things at your guests."  
Walking into the living room, she sat on the couch opposite Sirius. James trailed along behind her, and with a sigh, Sirius resumed his place on his couch – though seated upright this time, and without the pillow.

"Here," James said, and chucked a brown bag at him. "Food." Sirius, still glaring, sniffed tentatively at the bag.

"What is it?"

"Dad's biryani."

James did his best to avoid looking smug when Sirius huffed and accio-ed utensils from the kitchen.

They sat like that for a while, Sirius' irritation struggling to stay afloat when confronted with food, while James set about lazily tidying the flat with a few wand flicks and Evans scrolled through something on her phone.

It was only when over half of the rice was gone and the floor was once more devoid of blankets and jars of paint that Evans set down her Muggle device.

"You need to get out of the apartment, Sirius." No one could ever accuse her of beating around the bush.

He scowled. " _No_ , I don't."

"Mate, c'mon…" James sighed, hand darting through dark hair. "It's been three weeks. You can't stay here forever."

Sirius, quite satisfied with his chosen coping method, retorted, "Why not?"

"Your gallery, for one." That was a low blow, and it earned James a scowl. He knew how hard Sirius had worked for his business – how he'd pooled together Uncle Alphard's gold and his own pitiful savings and the loan Mum and Dad insisted on giving him – "It's not charity, love – it's an educated investment –" until he had enough to purchase the studio – how he'd painted commission after commission until he'd finally gotten noticed by a respected art critic – how he'd sat with James and sobbed over a bottle of champagne the night he'd had his first show and made his first big sale. James knew he'd poured his heart into his career – and he knew he'd been neglecting it for the past month. _Damn_. The bastard had a point.

Deflating, Sirius looked away and sighed. "I'm not neglecting it," he lied. "I've finished seven commissions."  
"And haven't accepted any new ones, _and_ you've canceled all your consultations, _and_ the gallery's been closed indefinitely."

And, well, Sirius didn't really have a response for that.

"C'mon, Padfoot." James' voice was gentle, but certain. "We gave you almost a month. You don't have to be okay, or get over him yet – but you've got to get back to your life. You've at least got to talk to me, mate."

For a moment, Sirius didn't say anything.

And then…

"What if I never get over him?" Sirius' voice was very, very small.

" _Sirius…_ this is temporary. I know you liked him, but eventually – "

"This wasn't some stupid crush, James." The words were fierce. "It was – I don't _know_ what it was, but it wasn't…" He cleared his throat, and his hand swiped at watery eyes.

"I know it wasn't stupid, mate. I know he mattered – _matters_ – to you. That doesn't mean he always will. And it doesn't mean you have to stop living until he doesn't."

And then suddenly it was just too much for Sirius, and the room felt far too small and his own pathetic inability to not screw everything up was taking over again. He let out a bitter laugh. "Who are you to talk, anyway? Not like you ever got over Evans, for reasons I'll never understand."

Silence.  
James stared Sirius straight in the eyes, his face closed. Sirius knew immediately he'd crossed a line, but he didn't look away. Moments ticked by, and neither spoke.

A ringing phone cut through the atmosphere.

James, startled, broke eye contact and glanced at his phone screen.

Tense awkwardness filled the air as he stood, saying, "Sorry, I've got to take this," and left the room.

Sirius was left alone with Evans, whose gaze fell intensely on his face.

"That didn't seem called for." Her voice was deceptively casual. "He's just trying to help."

Sirius, not wanting to accept the rising tendrils of guilt, didn't respond.

Evans, not to be deterred, merely shifted on the sofa and said, still casually, "Besides, that story is in the midst of a very happy beginning."

Before she could continue, James walked back into the room. Not quite making eye contact with Sirius, he said, "There's an emergency at the restaurant."

"Is everything alright?" Sirius asked. A grudging olive branch extended.

"- Yeah." But he still didn't look at him. "But I should go take care of it. Lily?"

There was a pause. And then… "You go ahead. I think I'll stay here for a bit." James' gaze flickered between her and Sirius, uncertain, and then the two of them had a _moment_ , filled with raised eyebrows and _significant_ looks, and jealousy rose in Sirius like a wave.

James huffed out a breath. "Alright, I guess. See you later, Lil."

"Bye James," she said, tilting her head up to accept the gentle kiss he pressed to her forehead.

He turned and walked to the door – but just before he walked out, he said, "I meant what I said, mate. Just… yeah."

And he was gone, and Sirius felt worse than before.

He didn't have long to wallow, though, because the second James' footsteps receded Evans was straightening up and leaning towards Sirius.

"Alright, enough of this. Settle in Sirius, we're going to have a talk."

Wonderful.


	8. Chapter 8

In the nearly two decades that Sirius had known Lily Evans, they had never become friends. Despite the fact that they'd seen each other nearly every day back at Hogwarts, and that James had ensured they each remained more than passingly aware of the other's existence in the years since, they had only ever progressed from a relationship of mutual loathing to one of begrudging tolerance to one of vague acquaintanceship and slight, unspoken respect.

In the early stages of knowing each other, Sirius really had despised her. He never could understand James' obsession – never thought her deserving of it – and he couldn't stand the way she treated him – how she responded with arrogant disdain to the affection of the first real friend Sirius had ever had.

It was both protectiveness and, though he´d never admit it, a slight bit of jealousy that ensured Sirius wouldn't allow himself to even consider that she might be slightly decent until their sixth year, when she punched Snivellus in the face after he outed a second year Hufflepuff in the middle of the Great Hall. She had proceeded to hex him for good measure, made it clear that anyone who tried to mess with the second year would have her to deal with, and defiantly marched back to her seat with barely a glance at the head table, where Dumbledore and a pantheon of professors stared at her with expressions ranging from astonished, to disapproving, to proud.

Snivellus was charged with a month of detentions, McGonagall gave Evans one night of lines and several helpings of biscuits, and Sirius had been forced to grant the redhead a modicum of respect.

That modicum had grown, a bit against Sirius' will, as she started to warm up to James and the two began their long progression into friendship. It helped that by that time, James had extricated his head from his ass and was behaving slightly less like a git, and that Sirius had finally realized that his distaste for Evans was largely undeserved.

By the time the three of them had settled into their post-Hogwarts lives in London, Sirius was forced to realize that the witch was genuinely kind, intelligent, witty, and good, that James really had provoked all of the earlier contempt she had held for him, and that, regardless of if the two of them ever managed to pull themselves together enough to start dating, there was little doubt that having Evans in his life made James immeasurably more happy than he had been without her.

But despite all that, there had remained a distance between her and Sirius that neither of them had ever ventured to cross. Even as she grew closer and closer to James, and cemented herself quite permanently in their lives, and even when every reason he had for disliking her had more than faded away and the only possible cause for the distance was a stubborn determination to persist in the way they always had, Sirius couldn't bring himself to bond with Evans. The two of them never associated unless James was there, they didn't have inside jokes, they didn't go to each other for help, and Sirius still never called her by her first name.

Deep down, he knew it was ridiculous – just as, deep down, he knew it was his fault. Knew that though the icy antagonism that used to mark their interactions had faded, there was a coldness that remained between them, and that it was a coldness he was responsible for maintaining. And he knew that it hurt James, even if he'd never actually say as much.

But still, he couldn't bring himself to bridge the years-long gap, and so Evans kept a cautious distance, and they didn't talk, didn't share, and they were not friends.

Which made the current situation, with Evans sitting on a couch opposite Sirius in an otherwise unoccupied flat, demanding that the two of them talk – an extremely bizarre one.

Sirius didn't quite know how to react, and didn't have the slightest clue what to say.

(Un)Luckily for him, though, it seemed that Evans did.

"Okay Sirius." Her emerald eyes narrowed on him in that particular way they had - that way that bore an uncanny resemblance to how McGonagall used to turn piercing eyes on him and James whenever she suspected them of wrongdoing.

"What happened?"

Sirius didn't answer, but the way his eyes darted away from hers and the involuntary tensing of his jaw did very little to dissuade her from her questions.

"Come on, Sirius. We aren't bloody fools; you went from being so bloody happy it was frankly rather annoying to moping about like Moaning Myrtle in the space of an afternoon. What happened?"

When Sirius still said nothing, Evans reclined in her seat and accioed a book from her bag.

"Fine then," she said, as she flipped to a page in the middle; "We'll just sit here until you feel like sharing."

Part of Sirius wanted to tell her to just skive off and get the bloody hell out of his apartment.

Who did she think she was, anyway? Lily Bloody Evans, with her too-red hair and too-superior attitude. Who apparently thought that a few dates with James gave her a right to Sirius' business –

Except that wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair, and Sirius knew it.

Because she was also the Lily Bloody Evans who had come by his flat every day for the past four weeks to bring him food and make sure he was still alive.

The Lily Bloody Evans who took the news of James and Sirius´ status as illegal animagi in stride – who had forgiven James for the more than questionable judgment he had exhibited in his early teens – who came to every one of Sirius´ new exhibits without fail – and who had never once protested James´ attachment to Sirius since she had started dating him.

The Lily Bloody Evans who, in some odd way of her own, cared about him. She must have.

And he was tired. And confused. And lonely.

And she was sitting, reading her book, waiting.

And she was there.

"I don´t know what happened."

The admission was quiet.

Her finger had paused in turning the page, and she glanced up at him. She didn´t move from where she was sitting or put the book down, and everything about her expression conveyed only mild interest – except for her eyes, which were steady and bright, and trained directly on his own.

And Sirius´ resolve burst like a dam, and the words that spilled forth filled that stubborn distance that had persisted between them for so many years.

He told her all of it – how it had begun, and how it had been, and, most of all, how it had ended. How it had crashed and faltered and fallen apart, and how he didn´t know why, or how, or what he had done wrong, and he didn´t, couldn´t understand – except he did, and he could, and he _had_ done something wrong, and he _did_ know what, and he had pushed too hard and wanted too much and _been_ toomuch – too much and not enough, all at the same time, just like always – and why couldn´t he just have been satisfied, why couldn´t it have been enough, why why _why_ did he have to lose this too, lose it before he ever even had it –

And then her hands were wrapping around him and holding him close, and she was running wand-calloused fingers through jet-black hair, and, "It´s alright, Sirius, you´re going to be alright; this isn´t forever."

"I thought it was going _well_. I thought he –" his voice was rough and cracked and maybe a little broken. " _I don´t understand what happened_. He could have just said no! But he – he was so – he didn´t have to –"

He sunk a little deeper into Lily´s arms.

"It´s like the second I asked, I lost him. He just… left. It just ended. And I don´t know if it was him or me or – or if I could have done something better. If I could have fixed it. I don´t know."

Her hands traveled lightly up and down his back, soothing, comforting, and suddenly Sirius was so, so tired.

"I don´t know." The words were a whisper. A confession. A plea.

Lily drew back and looked him in the eyes, piercing and fierce and bold, and he understood it, really, James´ love for her. (If her eyes were for James anything like Remus´ had been for Sirius, he understood it completely.)

"You didn´t do anything wrong, Sirius. And I know that doesn´t help or make it hurt less. I can´t make you believe me. But you should still hear it. If it wasn´t the same for him, there´s nothing you could have done. And now there´s nothing you can do but try and move on. Even though it´s hard."

She spoke softly, but firmly, and her words were uncompromising. And he knew she was right.

But still –

"What if I don´t want to move on? What if I miss him?"  
 _What if I see him and hear him everywhere? What if he´s the only person I want to talk to? What if the thought of him becoming a stranger hurts more than any pain I´ve ever felt? What if I need him? What if I_ _loved_ _–_ _What if I love_ _–_ _What if_ _?_

"You´re allowed to hurt, and you´re allowed to miss him – but you have to try, all the same. You have to." Her hands tightened on his shoulders and she gave him a gentle shake. "You´re a Gryffindor, Black. We don´t surrender. And you aren't fighting alone. We´re here, Sirius – James and I are here. And we aren´t leaving."

And Sirius took a deep, steadying breath, and his hand reached up to clasp her own – and maybe the breath was shaky, and maybe the hand was too – but he met her eyes all the same and he gave a quick, tiny nod.

Lily smiled at him softly, and he didn´t quite smile back – but he nodded again, more firmly, and he took another breath, and he straightened up and set his jaw and he was Sirius Black and he was a lion and he was strong.

And he would be alright.

Eventually.

He would.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

A week or so passed after Lily sat him down and demanded he get his life together, and Sirius was legitimately trying.

Getting James to forgive him was the easy part; their lives had grown so intertwined over the years that Sirius wasn't sure they would physically be able to go more than a week without talking (And he definitely never wanted to find out if he was wrong about that).

After talking to Evans, he had dropped by James' restaurant, stumbled his way through a few awkward, but genuine, lines of apology, and endured only a half-second of tense uncertainty before James expressed his forgiveness through an embrace.  
The two had talked for a little while more, and by the time Sirius quit the building in order to devote some much needed attention to his neglected gallery, there wasn't a speck of animosity lingering between them.

But again, that was the easy part.

Adjusting to life post-Remus… that was much harder.

Sirius was trying; he honestly was - he filled his time with consultations and commissions; he set to work planning the next series he wanted to put on exhibit; he spent hours tucked in his studio, painting piece after piece while loud rock music blared from his speakers.

He started spending time with Lily – their talk had more than cracked the barrier between them, and it only took a few more interactions to bring the whole thing tumbling down – and helped James at the restaurant nearly every day.

He filled every spare second he had with work, friends, family, music, art, anything, everything.

And it still wasn´t close to enough.

Because no matter what he tried, none of it made a difference in the quiet space before sleep.

That was a time he couldn't fill, try as he might – and as Sirius lay in his bed each night, staring at the ceiling and watching the shifting shadows that adorned it, he could never keep his mind from drifting back to thoughts of Remus – to memories tinted with crackling fireplaces and endless cups of tea – stacks and shelves of books and their scent and their weight and their stories – the ringing of bells and handwritten signs and precisely painted walls – and most of all, soft curls and pale scars and warm smiles and amber eyes. And questions. And mistakes.

But still he pushed on. And he tried, tried, tried.

* * *

Diagon Alley thrummed with the tell-tale signs of magical life so characteristic of its cobbled streets.

Put-upon mothers and fathers herded small children from one store to the next, as hawkers and corner salesmen swooped down before them, waxing poetic about the latest potions and trinkets and charms that only they could deliver.

A chattering group of young witches and wizards tumbled out of Quality Quidditch supplies, and nearly bowled over a squat man carrying a newspaper and a briefcase – who stopped to glare at them for a second before he set his sights on Gringotts once more with a few words muttered under his breath and a swish of his robes.

Bodies jostled and crammed and slipped past each other on the overcrowded walkways, sharing their energy and exhaustion and, for a short while at least, their existence – and the very air seemed to carry the scent of magic – as if so much of it was swirling and mixing and shifting around them, bouncing between people and out of doors and off of windows, that it had begun to condense into an ineffable and inescapable cloud, hanging low and intoxicating all the passersby.

At least, that was how it appeared to Sirius – how it always had seemed to appear to him, since the first time he had visited the bustling heart of wizarding London, back when he had been no more than one of the small children herded from store to store – though he doubted Walburga Black would have taken too kindly to being called put-upon.

He loved it – loved the color and magic and life of it all – and as he sucked in another deep breath of the scented air, he could feel his spirits, still rather sunken, begin to stir and rise, poking their neglected heads out of the holes they had burrowed themselves in.

He couldn´t deny that it had been a good idea, coming out for a day of aimless strolling and window-shopping – which was fairly unfortunate. Because it had been Lily´s idea and he had put up quite a few weak protests before agreeing to humor it, and he could tell now from the smug look on her face that she had seen the look on _his_ face and knew she had been right.

Which meant she would probably quietly gloat for the rest of the day, and Sirius – despite his new-found fondness for the redhead – still would have rather liked to have his stubbornness be validated.

Rolling his eyes in her direction, he groaned lightly and said, "Yes, yes, alright then, this wasn´t a _terrible_ idea – now will you shut up about it?" – but he was careful to ensure the words were softened by the amused curve of a half-fond, half-exasperated grin.

Lily only shot him a sharp smirk, before turning to James and making it clear that ice cream was not an optional part of the day's activities, and, "honestly James, I know you´re a bit of a health nut but really, how is ice cream even negotiable? Next you´ll be telling me chocolate isn´t good for you."

Sirius strolled along beside James and Lily, largely tuning out James´ impassioned response that, "- chocolate _isn´t_ good for you, though, and neither is – " and the resulting light-hearted debate over the merits of sugar that both parties really only feigned an investment in – especially as they had already set a course to Florean Fortescue´s.

Instead, he allowed his mind to drift.

It really had been Lily´s idea to visit Diagon Alley today, and while she had claimed her sudden desire stemmed from a need to replenish her potions´ stores, he knew it was really just the latest attempt of realizing the new determination of her and James´ to get him _out of his house_. He couldn´t blame them, and he didn´t really mind – he had been trying after all, and trying involved going places that didn´t just include his place or James´, and seeing people that didn´t just involve James and Lily, and doing things that didn´t just involve painting and sulking. But he had still protested the excursion, partly because (as he´d cited to Lily as his primary excuse,) he really did have work to do, and also partly for the mere sake of arguing, which he was always rather fond of… but also because of the needling and irritating fact that when he imagined visiting Diagon Alley – or going out anywhere really; anywhere new or special or unassociated with routine – he couldn´t avoid picturing going there with – with Remus.

Which was ridiculous, of course, and impossible for more than just the primary (and heartbreaking) reason. But he couldn´t help it.

He hadn´t shared that particular reservation with James or Lily, though, and he really couldn´t deny that it did feel good to be somewhere different for a change, with friends at his side and the clanging of life all around him. And so he let himself lose himself in it. Let the lives and energy of strangers step in and take the reins, and allow the concerns of his own life to rest for a while.

And perhaps if he hadn´t been so focused on immersing himself in the crowd, Sirius would have registered exactly how large that crowd was – would have realized that it was maybe just a bit more full than should have been expected, even for a late Saturday morning in Diagon Alley.

Or maybe he would have noticed that the energy he was surrendering his worries to was a little too close to the bad side of lively. A tiny bit tense. Ever so slightly hostile.

But Sirius did not register, or realize, or notice. Not any of it.

And so, Sirius, alongside James and Lily, strolled unconcernedly from shop-front to quaint shop-front, cutting a meandering path on their lazy quest for ice cream – until the shouting started.

* * *

"What´s going on?" James, who had been completely immersed in Lily and therefore just as oblivious as Sirius, had looked up when he heard the yelling – too distant to distinguish more than anger and yet still too close for comfort – and was now trying to take in their surroundings with sharply squinting eyes. He had to yell to be heard over the racket that had erupted suddenly somewhere ahead of them, where a crowd was quickly beginning to form – or maybe had formed a while ago, and was only now catching their attention.

"No idea," Lily yelled back. She started to say more but at that moment a man ran past them, shoving into James, who nearly knocked Lily and Sirius over in turn.

Sirius didn´t fall, but he did stumble, and only barely managed to keep from crashing into Olivander´s closed door.

It was there, pushed up against the wall of the wand shop, that Sirius first noticed the posters. There were four posted to the front of Olivander´s alone, and as he turned and shoved his way back to where Lily and James stood, he noticed the rest of them: the signs and flyers that were hanging everywhere, pinned and plastered on the very window panes he had been passively gazing at earlier. Despite the fact that they seemed to be everywhere, he couldn´t quite make out their text – only a bold headline that seemed to contain the words 'demand' and 'change,' and an image in ink, replicated on all of them, of a fist thrust into the air, with a broken chain around its wrist.

"I think there´s some sort of protest going on," Sirius said – or, at least, he wanted to say, but as the noise level rose like a dragon rearing its head to strike, and bodies crowded even closer, all he could manage to get out was a shouted, "Protest!"  
James and Lily seemed to understand him even so. By this point they were all clutching each other's arms to prevent getting separated. They came to the simultaneous decision that it was time to leave, _now_ , before whatever cause this mayhem was due to brought the crowd to blows.

Only leaving was easier said than done. Somehow, in the confusion, the flow of excess bodies had carried the trio almost to the center of the chaos. Sirius could now see that a ring of onlookers, of which he and his friends were unwittingly a part, had gathered and were surrounding… something he still couldn´t quite make out. There, so caught up in the crush of people, it was impossible to turn and apparate away, and attempting to push their way back the way they´d come would have been more than futile.

They were stuck.

Sirius caught James´ eye and saw that he had come to the same conclusion. He made to grab for his wand, hoping that if whatever was being protested or debated or Merlin knew what else was controversial enough to spark a violent response, he, James, and Lily would at least be able to get clear of the worst of it – and then, just as his hand closed around his wand and drew it out of his pocket, someone knocked into him from behind, and Sirius stumbled forward, coming to a halt right at the edge of the crowd.

From his new vantage point, he could make out the source of the escalation. Two groups stood divided before him. Taking up most of the space were the protestors – and it was clear now that this was a protest, though of what Sirius still didn´t know. Wizards and Witches of all ages, though it did appear that most of them were in their twenties or early thirties, carried posters and signs, and booths had been set up which organizers and volunteers clustered behind. Off to the side a makeshift stage had been constructed – from the looks of it there would be a presentation or speech of some sort later on – and the protestors seemed to be chanting slogans as they waved their signs and passed out pamphlets. Only Sirius couldn´t make out what exactly they were saying – because of the second group.

Beyond the crowd but still separate from the protestors stood a handful of witches and wizards who were apparently attempting to protest this protest, albeit much less peacefully. Sirius rapidly put together the evidence before him, forming a hasty summary of what must have happened. The protestors had likely been going about their work and starting to draw attention to themselves, when the second group had caught on to what cause they were championing (something Sirius, to his growing frustration, still hadn´t managed to do) and had apparently disagreed with it. To Sirius´ best guess, they were the ones who had started the shouting that had caught his attention – and they hadn´t yet stopped it. Directing his attention to their faces, which were warped by hatred, Sirius made out what they were yelling.

"Half-breeds! Beasts! You don´t belong here!"

The jeers shot towards the protestors like curses, but were met with no response. The protestors ignored the shouts and continued their own chants ("Enough-;" "-Demand-;" "-Justice;" – Sirius caught snatches of them here and there), seemingly immune to the antagonism being flung at them. The only evidence that they might be affected lay in a handful of clenched jaws and white-knuckled fists.

Up to that point, though, it seemed that the situation had stayed restricted to the realm of jeers and shouts – but as Sirius watched, a wizard broke off from the onlookers and moved towards the protestors.

After that, several things happened in very quick succession.

One: The wizard pulled out his wand and pointed it directly into the throng of protestors, some of whom began to scream and yell as they all dashed to get out of range.

Two: A handful of protestors darted forward and cast shield charms, creating a wall of protective magic between themselves and the attacker.

Three: A lone protester ran through said wall, heading straight for the wizard and…

Four: …disarmed him with a flick of his wrist. Then,

Five: stood, defiant, in front of the man, exchanged some words only the two of them could hear, and waited as his opponent sneered, spat on the ground before him, and turned to walk away, grabbing his wand back as he left but making no further move to use it.

Six: The protestor remained where he stood, but turned his defiance onto the rest of the onlookers as he stared them down, seemingly daring someone else to interfere.

Seven: Amber eyes turned in Sirius´ direction.

Eight:

Nine: Sirius and Remus stared each other down, but were interrupted moments later when,

Ten: A pamphlet was shoved into Sirius´ hand.

Eleven: Sirius glanced down at the pamphlet he was holding.

Twelve: He looked back up at Remus

Thirteen: He understood.


End file.
